If I am given fifteen more years in this profession, I will treat them differently.
Not as a continuation of what I have already built.
But as my last serious stretch.
The first half of a veterinary career is about proving you belong. You learn to suture under pressure. You memorize protocols. You survive parvo seasons, dystocias at midnight, blocked cats at closing time. You endure complaints, social media noise, financial uncertainty, staff turnover, self-doubt. You build resilience because you have no choice.
You fight to stay in the room.
But the last stretch is not about fighting to belong.
It is about deciding who you will become before you leave.
In these final years, I do not want comfort. Comfort dulls. I want expansion. I want to study again with hunger. I want to explore disciplines that challenge how I think, not just confirm what I already know. Advanced diagnostics. Emerging technologies. AI in veterinary medicine. Smarter business systems. Stronger legal awareness. Better leadership models.
Because our industry is not static.
Clients are more demanding.
Information spreads instantly.
Margins are thinner.
Competition is sharper.
Burnout is real.
If we stop upgrading ourselves, we do not stay the same. We slowly fall behind.
In this last stretch, I will deliberately put myself in rooms where I am not the most knowledgeable. I will seek mentors even if I have been practicing for decades. I will admit when I do not know. I will ask questions without ego.
There is strength in that.
I have learned that pride is expensive. It isolates you. It slows growth. It creates blind spots. Humility, on the other hand, sharpens you. It keeps you teachable. It keeps you grounded when success tempts you to believe your own narrative.
Veterinary medicine has a way of humbling everyone eventually. One unexpected complication. One case that does not follow the textbook. One legal challenge. One public criticism. No matter how long you practice, you are never beyond vulnerability.
The mature veterinarian understands this and adjusts.
Another truth I have accepted is that I no longer need to look impressive.
There was a time when visibility mattered. Recognition mattered. Titles mattered. They gave confidence. They built platforms. They opened doors.
But visibility is not the same as impact.
Impact is quieter.
Impact is when a younger veterinarian avoids quitting because someone mentored them.
Impact is when a colleague survives a complaint because someone guided them behind the scenes.
Impact is when a clinic becomes financially stable because someone taught them what no one else would discuss.
Impact is when professional standards rise because someone was brave enough to speak early.
Those things do not always trend.
They do not always receive applause.
But they shape the profession.
If these are truly my last fifteen years of active, serious practice, I want them to be my sharpest years. Not my loudest. Not my most decorated. My sharpest.
Sharper in clinical judgment.
Sharper in business wisdom.
Sharper in emotional discipline.
Sharper in humility.
The early years are about building a name.
The last stretch should be about building legacy.
Not a legacy measured in titles or photos on stage, but in stronger clinics, braver veterinarians, and a profession that stands more secure because you chose to grow until the very end.
If this is my final stretch, I will not slow down.
I will refine.
Dr. Geoff Carullo is a Fellow and the current President of the Philippine College of Canine Practitioners.
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